


Bobbing Along

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Closet Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fellatio, Halloween, Light Dom/sub, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: Halloween party shenanigans! Jon made a mistake thinking manning a booth at the party would be uneventful. Sansa has other ideas, but it works out for them both in the end.





	Bobbing Along

Jon really should have known better. He should have known to expect something outrageous from Sansa. Six months of holiday seductions, and still Jon thought his evening of manning the apple bobbing booth at a Halloween college party would be uneventful and safe. At least, he did until an auburn head appeared from beneath the floor-length tablecloth in front of him and mischievous hands reached for his zipper.

Jon meant to push her away- he really did, subtly and unassumingly as possible. But his body stayed frozen with both shock and anticipation, arousal taking over his common sense as she nuzzled against his cock through the thin cotton of his briefs. As he thickened and swelled, straining against the seam, he surrendered himself to his fate, sending up a prayer of thanks to whatever higher power was willing to listen that the table was level with his waistline.

He held back a groan as she slid his erection free through the fly: hard, throbbing, and aching for her touch. Sansa answered his silent plea, wrapping her hand around the base and lightly licking the tip as she stroked up and down his length. Jon’s eyes widened, hissing under his breath as she slid him into her mouth. She hollowed her cheeks and _sucked_ , Jon biting down on his tongue to hold back his shout as sensation ratcheted through him like a livewire.

Jon’s world narrowed down to the singular focus that was the bewitching, mischievous vixen wreaking havoc on his senses. He stared sightlessly ahead as group of tipsy coeds stumbled over to his station, barely registering when the boys pushed and tussled their way to finally taking turns dunk their heads in the tub. Clinging white-knuckled at the edge of the table, Jon used his free hand to dazedly hand off towels and the swag bags set aside for prizes.

His hips canted, his toes curling, as Sansa twisted her tongue just right and relaxed her throat to take his cock even deeper. He could feel the pressure building, a familiar tingling and warmth forewarning a finish he certainly didn’t want to happen publicly. Mustering every vestige of willpower he was capable of, he gently pushed her away. As he tucked himself back in and zipped up as discreetly as possible, he caught a glimpse of her disappointed pout. Well, he wasn’t planning to keep her disappointed for long.

He leaned forward over the table under the guise of straightening the pile of prize bags, purposely knocking over the pile of towels in the corner and sending several of them tumbling into the apple tub. Affecting a flustered expression, Jon clumsily retrieved them, frowning as they came back soaked and dripping. With a sigh, he looked over the crowd until he met the eyes of one of the event’s coordinators, Renly Baratheon, who studied Jon’s situation and nodded, granting the permission Jon was looking for.  

Jon put up a little ‘Back in Five Minutes’ sign and looked up again to catch Margaery Tyrell, of all people, watching him slyly. There was something about her knowing smile that had him flushing from head to toe, turning on his heel to hurry to the nearby storeroom, which Sansa had surreptitiously slipped into during his feigned accident.

“You’re lucky I don’t spank you for pulling a stunt like that,” he growled once he had locked the door behind him and whirled around to face her, his eyes hot and piercing. Sansa felt that growl, felt those words, _everywhere_ , palpable as a touch. Like every inch of her was wired to respond instantly to that low, commanding tone, caressing over her, rough and raw, until she was utterly aching for him to fulfill every dirty promise his hungry gaze held.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said coyly, biting her lip as she eyed the army fatigues he’d worn for the party. It was a lazy choice, given his ROTC status, but there was little Sansa Stark enjoyed more than Cadet Colonel Snow in his element, confident and commanding, and Jon knew it, if the shift in his body language was any sort of indication. “I just couldn’t seem to help yourself.”

“Well then,” he husked in reply, stalking toward her. “I’ll need to something about that discipline problem of yours. We can’t afford the noise of a spanking right now, but rest assured it will come later. For now...” He began undoing his belt, determinedly holding her gaze. His pupils were blown wide with arousal, leaving his winter greys a deep black so heated with desire she was reminded of molten obsidian. “Bend over the table, facing away from me. Hips against the edge, hands above your head. Keep them flat and don’t let them move.”

Sansa was quick to move into position, laying her hands flat and rearranging her legs until she felt she wouldn’t fall the moment he pushed against her. She felt him step up behind her, flipping up her skirt with little preamble and palming her backside. “Spread your legs.” The command was curt and again, quickly obeyed. He pulled down her underwear, leaning forward until he could kiss her neck, lips level with her ear. “We don’t have a lot of time, but you choose. Trick or treat, Sansa?”

Sansa just barely resisted the urge to squirm as the heat of his body was just tantalizingly out of reach. “Tricks later. _Please_ , Jon.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He pressed another sweet kiss to her pulse, adjusting until one arm was pillowing her head, the other slipping between her thighs from behind. “Alright, lovely girl. Those hands don’t move, understand?” Teasing fingers slid back and forth against her sex. “No noise either. Bite down on me if you need to. That’s what the arm’s for. Is that all alright? Yes or no.”

“Yes,” she replied quickly, rocking back against him as he pressed his index finger inside her, singular and unmoving. “So very much a yes.”

One finger became two, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against her clit. Sansa shuddered and shook, determinedly biting back every moan and keen his touch evoked. “I love you,” he whispered tenderly and then he leaned further over her, pressing her hander against the table.

The muscular solidity of him anchored her firmly in place, as the tempo of his thrusting fingers picked up, and the low growl of his voice filled her ear, a running commentary of how she felt, wet and tight and hot, how he would fill and stretch her, how the moment they were back at home he would stretch her out on their bed, tease and touch and taste until she was drenched and quivering with want. Then, he would push her further still, spread her open with his cock until her body was a livewire of sensation, until all she felt was him, driving her to the edge but never quite over, keeping her dangling on the precipice until pleasure was bordering on pain with a fierceness that nearly bespoke of insanity.

Finally, _finally_ , when he let her fall, let her shatter into oblivion and ride her peak, she knew, with the potent acuity of treasured recollection, that he would carefully piece her back together, and when she came back to herself, she would be centered, grounded, warm, safe, sated, and exhausted, cradled in his arms. Seven save her, it was glorious every time.

Sansa bit into the meat of his forearm, holding back a sob of pure, unadulterated desire when he withdrew his fingers, but she held out against complaining. He murmured apologetically, the faint tear of foil catching the edge of her awareness before he adjusted himself and began to press inside her. Once or twice, Jon paused, pressing his forehead to her shoulder  as he fought to get his bearings. Releasing her hold on his arm, she pressed a penitent kiss to the deep imprint of her teeth, sighing contently once he was fully seated.

“Nothing’s ever felt as good as you, lovely girl,” he groaned, wrapping a steadying arm around her waist. “Gods, this won’t last long.”

Sansa was in full agreement as he began to thrust, slow and deep, already feeling her lower body clenching with a familiar pressure. HIs slow pace only lasted a few strokes, picking up as she pushed back against him, urging him on.

It didn’t take long. Neither the time or place for anything earth-shattering, climax nonetheless stole their breath, left them shaking, panting, and clinging to each other. They withdrew from one another slowly, pleasantly worn-out and satisfied as they set about making themselves at least semi-presentable once more. Sansa smiled as she reached out to fix is collar, her eyes warm and happy as she gazed up at him. “You know, if the military doesn’t work out, you might have a future in writing erotica. Tonight’s soliloquy was particularly inspired.”

She was delighted to see the tips of his ear go red, even as he shrugged with forced nonchalance. “Eh, well, your display out there had me in a right state. I needed you there with me.” Giving up on being able to smooth out out the wrinkles in his jacket, Jon leaned over to kiss her once, twice, a third time, distracting her attempts to right her hair.

“Jon,” she laughed, playfully pushing him away so that she could shake her hair out and pull it into a simple ponytail, unharassed. Jon watched her contently, giving the air a discreet sniff and musing on how caught-out they would be once they stepped outside. “You think your friend Margaery will help us sneak out early? If the look she gave me earlier was any indication, I think she knows full well what we’ve been up to.”

Sansa at first looked thoughtful, mulling over the possibility of Margaery aiding their escape, but a look of realization crossed her face as he went on, facepalming with a groan. With a frown of concern, Jon reached up to tug her hand back down, entwining their fingers. “Sans, what’s wrong?”

Sansa regarded him with a resigned expression. “I’ve lost a bet I made with Marg ages ago. She claimed that you and I wouldn’t make it back to our place at the next party, I thought she was being ridiculous. That was before midterms, it’s been so long since that I completely forgot. And equally that long since you and I have had time for this."

“What was the wager?”

Sansa groaned again, tucking her head against his shoulder as Jon wrapped an arm around her. “Robb’s number. It’s not even like I disapprove, but I know her. I know how she gets when she sleeping with someone. She’ll insist on a double date and I’ll have to watch her sitting there, wearing that stupid ‘cat-got-the-canary’ smile every time she looks at my brother.” She shuddered at the thought.

Jon hummed sympathetically. “It might not come to that,” he offered. “Robb might not be interested.”

Sansa gave a look that screamed how naive she found him to be for that thought, and how much she pitied him for it. “It’s Margaery Tyrell, Jon. She’s going to eat him alive. Poor Robb doesn’t stand a chance.” With a sigh, she sagged back against him.

Jon chuckled, sensing her reluctant acceptance of the inevitable. “About time to face the music. Ready?”

“Ready.” She tipped her face up toward him and Jon dipped his head to meet her, their kiss sweet and simple. “Happy Halloween, Jon.”

“Happy Halloween, lovely girl.”


End file.
